Cold Satin
by legheads-lament
Summary: Mad Queen. No specific time frame. Angsty rambling for the most part. - "You have a way about you. An ability to switch intimacy on and off, with her. A unique talent to gauge yourself according to her emotions; when to be rough and messy, and when to be affectionate, tender, how to touch her more deeply than anything merely physical."


Title: Cold Satin  
Author: Nikayla  
Genre: Romance/Angst/More Angst  
Pairing: Regina/Jefferson, Mad Queen  
Set During: No specific timeline or episode to reference, all set way before Hat Trick/Grace/etc  
Rating: PG-13/TV-14  
Author's Notes: I have a lot of thoughts and feelings regarding this beautiful, flawed pairing. The most prominent of which is that they had a relationship before he had Grace, and his leaving really sent her off the edge. Before though I think he would have been a, comfort to her, for lack of an appropriate term. I have such a well of emotion when it comes to Regina. I'm on her side, even when it's really not the right side to be on. I think so much of her anger stems from truly just going crazy after losing Daniel and spiraling into magic. I tried to let a lot of that insanity come across in this. Most of it was written until 6 this morning, so there's a lot of unbridled emotion. I really hope you enjoy it :)

You have history.

But then everyone does.

You are certain though, that no one else has experienced the things you have with her. It's a foolish notion perhaps, to count yourself so singular and important, but you always were the first to acknowledge that you were different, superior, with that portal sat atop your head. And you had to be superior, didn't you? For her to take a more than momentary notice of you. You had to be something spectacular to deserve of her time. Her affection. You were sure to make use of whatever manly allure you possessed when you were around her. Anything to keep her eyes fixed on yours. Anything to draw her nearer without actually doing a thing. Anything to keep her there. Anything to make her fall. And for you to fall right with her. Into those softer-than-satin sheets. The contrast of cold and soft beneath you, and her warmth above, the feeling you yearned for as you traveled far-off lands no one's even heard of, searching for things you care not in the least about. All the while longing for the cold and the warm and the softness of her lips when she finally gave in to you and pressed them hungrily against yours. There were times they were the only reason you bothered with the traveling. Hopping down the rabbit hole to gather up some trinket for her, another excuse to see her again. You'd present it like it was worth more than her kingdom, a thinly veiled reflection of what you not-so secretly felt of her worth. And when she'd set it aside amongst all the other bits and baubles, and kiss you, you felt the Queen melt away, and the girl in her emerge.

She looks younger when she lets herself go with you. No harsh expressions or snarling teeth, her eyes hold a different sort of light when she allows them to, and her smile is positively radiant. A reminder of who and what she was, really not so long ago. Her ascent was quick, and anything but painless. You watched her gain power, and lose more of herself. Give and take. There was so, so much more take. What she gave up, what she lost on her quest for power greatly outweighed what she was given in return. Sure she could burn down a kingdom with the flick of a finger, rip a heart clean out of anyone's chest, but not being able to muster more than a grain of compassion, or see an ounce of beauty in the world, it was a trade you forever wished your words could have kept her from. She lost herself. And all you could do was watch it happen.

Slowly you found ways to get glimpses of her former person. Places to touch her, to kiss her, that brought that glimmer of light back. They were few and far between, but something is better than nothing, isn't it? Her eyes would turn back to brown, blackened pupils no longer dominating the space there. Her long curls tumbled down her back, making her appear softer in every way. You'd clasp her dainty hand, pull her around a corner, she'd crash into you and her warm breath danced against your skin, making your pupils dilate in lust, hands fighting against the billowing tufts of her dress, determined to take her there, for fear the monotony of a bed would cause her to tire of you, and she'd send you on your way for good.

There were nights though, that she would speak to you. No roaming hands, or mouths, she'd just, talk. Infrequent moments of trust and the overwhelming need to tell somebody, anybody, her oft-ignored memories, her seldom-, if ever, acknowledged fears. She still had them. As much as she liked to think otherwise. It took a special collection of occurrences to bring that side out of her. A wind gusting into her room, carrying the too-familiar scent of a green field, and a boy, and a love lost despite her greatest efforts to protect it. And on the occasion you showed up, smelling much too much like this love that could never be forgotten, she had no recourse but to let her heart tell the tale; words tumbling out and laced with more emotion than her lips could handle. When she'd finally look at you, it was with glassy eyes that held so much, spoke so much, 'take it away, make it stop, the hurting, do something'. You would sit enthralled until this point, just listening. She didn't need your comments, she'd heard them all before. Speechifying was rather pointless with the Queen. She didn't need nor did she want to hear how sorry you were for her loss, or how he would have wanted her to find love again, not turn into this, this angry and vengeful shell so focused on revenge that she had lost everything he'd loved about her. But her eyes still beckoned something from you, something she hadn't felt since her stable boy had fallen victim to her mother's plan for her future. One that would never include him. No she didn't need your words on these nights, but she did need more than your hallway romps. She needed to feel on these nights, more than she cared to admit.

You have a way about you. An ability to switch intimacy on and off, with her. A unique talent to gauge yourself according to her emotions; when to be rough and messy, and when to be affectionate, tender, how to touch her more deeply than anything merely physical. You knew on these nights you were a stand-in, and part of you, part of you wished you really could replace him. That maybe if you did, she could be herself again, let go of her crushing hate, that in the end only crushed her, no matter how much she tried to lash out and hurt, strike fear, she was what became smaller for it. You felt it all the time, her losing more and more, physically, mentally, she was always on the losing end. You feared it wouldn't be long until she was a senseless waif, with a heart so compressed it might never expand to beat again. You'd kiss her, and it was soft, almost heartbreakingly gentle. Like you loved her. There's that on switch again. You could feel her lips tremble, trying to push back her emotions, steeling herself for confessing so much to you, but on you'd persist. Laying the groundwork to cloud her memory, even if only for the night.

She sat at her vanity, with you kneeled before her, a truly devout subject. With lips insisting and hands around her waist, pulling her closer. Sometimes she would put up the faintest resistance to your advances, other times she would concede immediately, eyes closing, allowing you to take control, block out those memories still invading her mind. Not replacing them, just, pushing them farther down her consciousness. When she pulls tight to you, your hands are delicate, running up and down her spine, slowly unlacing the back of her bodice, needing to feel the warmth of her skin, as much as she needs to feel yours. You carry her to her bed, positioning so she is sitting in your lap, knees on either side of your legs, your hands pushing her skirt up and off of her, fingers lingering as they trail up her legs. Slow and sweet caresses, such a far cry from your usual run-ins. There is heat, but it's the kind that burns slowly, it feels more effective really, than the crash boom bash of sex through clothes and quick stolen moments. You were intimate with her, sure, but it was rare that it felt so, _intimate_. Just you, and her, and cold satin. She brings her hands to your face, really kissing you, not biting or pulling but, _kissing you_, like she'd fall apart if she stopped. You roll so her back is pressed into the sheets, her hair cascading about her pillows, with you lingering a breath above. You move from her lips to lay your attention down her neck, across her chest, breathing your way down her abdomen. It's then that you hear her breathing start to change, but not for the reasons you'd hope, not from pleasure but from panic, her lungs fighting to keep steady as her mind wanders back to her stable boy, short almost whimpering breaths escaping her lips against her will, her hands at your shoulders, fingers digging in, signaling to you that she is losing again. You bring a swift kiss back to her lips, rougher than before but still with the intent of tenderness, bringing her back from the edge, fingers trailing up her arm and then back down her side, achingly affectionate. Her hand is at your cheek and then moves into your hair, gripping, holding her mind in the here and now as much as she's able. You kiss her so deeply, trying to pull something out of her, drawing out some unseen phantom that's haunting her memory. As if you could make everything okay.

You roll to bring her above you, her body nearly liquefying to conform to yours. Her hands slam into the headboard above you before she sits up. Your one hand is clenching her waist as she pulls the other flat to her chest, almost begging you to rip her heart out. She knows this is one talent you do not possess, but it doesn't matter. It is a courtesy you could never pay her, even if you did have that power. Her head dips back and she shuts her eyes willing the images away. You move your hand to hook behind her neck and pull her down to kiss you again. She starts to lose control and breaks away from you but only moves far enough to rest her cheek against yours, almost inaudibly whispering in your ear, "please, Jefferson." It nearly breaks your heart how desperate she is, not to feel, not these things. If you could snap your fingers and bring the Queen back, right now you would. You hate seeing the strength and cunningness fall away to reveal so many broken pieces, that you have no hope of reconstructing into anything even resembling that girl she used to be. As she bites back her body's reaction, almost ashamed of needing you so much, not wanting to vocalize her release, you pull her tighter to you, laying kisses across her neck, hands tangling in her hair, and you're right there with her.

There are nights that you leave straight after, and then there are nights that she lets you stay. Asks you to, in that wordless way she gets so many things she wants, or needs. She won't say it, she doesn't need to really, you know her now. You'd never dare to actually say that to her, "I know you"; it could lead to a battle you are equipped with not a single weapon to fight. But you do. You know when you are wanted, needed, and how you are needed when you are. When she buries her face in your neck, shifting to lie beside you, your arms instinctively draw her closer, protectively. Protecting her from herself more than anything else. Who else could cause an ounce of damage to this woman anymore? She wields all the power, except the power to escape herself, when the wind whips in, and green fields where true love's kiss still meant something tear through her mind. No one can stop it. But at least at this, you are superior.


End file.
